


Touch (Ugly Comforts)

by Half_SubmergedinPurgatory



Series: TG Prompt Collection [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul, tokyo ghoul :re
Genre: Gen, Pretty Kaneki, Self-Hatred, implications of abuse, prompt-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half_SubmergedinPurgatory/pseuds/Half_SubmergedinPurgatory
Summary: //slams into your inbox: Kaneki's hair is incredibly soft around the roots and wispier towards the tips. It's heaven to give him head massages and to just touch his head/face in general (he has soft skin due to regeneration too so), maybe do something with that? I hope that isn't a vague enough idea to drabble off of ;;;(Prompt from floppyamon on tumblr)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Contains some spoilers for :Re.
> 
> Y'all can prompt me @ purgatoryandme.tumblr.com and see answered requests under the tag "drabbles".

It all began in the early days of his transformation. Kaneki still remembers them vividly, despite the dream-like quality most of his human memories have taken on ( _his mother’s lips quirking up…or was it down…displeasure or pleasure, they meant the same thing to him in his childhood_ ).   
  
Kaneki had never been an exceptionally beautiful person. He was plain at best: scrawny, shorter than average, awkward curves ( _they went away when his aunt stopped feeding him. He was thankful_ ), and delicate bones. His skin was always a little dry and chipping away at the corners of his mouth. His hair was more than a little limp ( _he couldn’t afford nice beauty products or regular haircuts anyway_ ).    
  
A few days after his transformation…that had changed.   
  
His skin was different. He had never noticed how consistent his complexion was, if that made sense. His skin was _**so even**_. It almost didn’t look real ( _human_ ) now that it had stopped flaking ( _it frightened him, but once he stopped sleeping it discoloured enough that he felt comfortable in his own skin again_ ).   
  
His hair was different, too. Thinking back on it, it might’ve been the first thing he noticed. It was… _fluffier._  
  
His hair was like the downy feathers on a baby bird ( _wasn’t that what Hide had said on that fated day he’d puked all over their table at Big Girl’s? A baby bird puking up a meal from its mother…ugh_ ).  
  
His sleeplessness might have darkened his skin, but nothing could screw up his hair. Other people noticed it too.   
  
Touka was the first.   
  
A day of sparring came and went, and they rested on the floor, back to back. His head was laying on her shoulder and her chin was digging uncomfortably into his forehead when she noticed.   
  
“Huh.”  
  
She’d grunted, sounding perplexed. He had stirred ( _internally, he’d been moaning about how much everything hurt_ ) and shifted a little in answer when her delicate fingers tangled in his hair.   
  
“Like a kitten’s fur…”  
  
She’d mumbled occasionally throughout her ministrations. He hadn’t stopped her ( _petting was better than punching, after all_ ).   
  
He wasn’t sure who was the second, though it didn’t escape his notice when Uta’s fingers began to skim over his neck during mask fittings. He also noted the times that Nishiki noogied him, tugging hard on silken black strands and squeezing them between his fingers.   
  
He tried to **_forget_** about how Yamori’s hands were almost gentle when they touched his face. He tried to _**remember**_ how Nico trimmed his hair for him, whispering about keeping him safe from something much worse than losing his fingers and toes ( _Nico may have failed, but the sentiment **meant something**_ ).  
  
When his hair went white, it got coarser. He was almost grateful for the spikes it dried into and the crunch it made when he touched it. No one would want to touch it anymore.   
  
Then there was Banjou. His massive hands held Kaneki’s head steady and still when his panic attacks made his jaw so tight his teeth cracked ( _and healed…cracked and healed…again and again and again_ ). They massaged his scalp and pulled the knots out of his locks. Hinami was next, with colourful hair clips and ribbons…things that made him feel beautiful.  
  
Beautiful was scary, however in Hinami’s hands he almost felt like beauty was something to be admired. Something that could keep you safe.   
  
( _He never let himself believe that beauty could be armour until Tsukiyama’s battlesuit changed the way enemies responded to him_ )  
  
Arima hadn’t touched his hair. Arima hadn’t touched him at all.   
  
As Haise, Arima had touched him, though only with gloves on. Kaneki could still remember Arima’s cold distant gaze sweeping over the perfectly even, practically poreless, skin of his cheeks.   
  
That look was the closest thing to _**physical**_ that they’d ever been.  
  
It still haunted Kaneki. He didn’t like to think about it _(how happy he’d been or how he had looked at himself in the mirror later as Sasako_ ).

Saiko had given him head massages constantly. Whenever he’d thanked her, she’d respond with: “My pleasure, Maman.” Even now, that memory made his chest tight.  
  
He’d experienced so much affection because of the changes his body had undergone.  
  
_**Why wasn’t it enough?**_  
  
When Hinami slapped his face, her hand tapered off into a caress and her fingers lingered in his too-long hair. His heart stuttered and he didn’t understand right away.  
  
Kaneki kept moving forward with his plan, each heartbeat thudding uncomfortably against his ribcage and his fingers tingling with the oddest sensation ( _regret…forget…_ ).  
  
Finally, he stood before death itself, and Touka…didn’t touch him.  
  
He realized that he had expected her to.  
  
Instead, her fingers ran through her own hair, and a single thought invaded his mind. Kaneki had never touched her. Kaneki had never reached out to any of them.   
  
His artificial hand throbbed.  
  
He made a choice.


End file.
